


Qrowtober: a Fic of Fortunate Fools

by Renabe



Category: RWBY
Genre: Absolute Dorks, Drabbles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Tendie like chickie nuggie, Will add more if needed, silliness and sauce, some tags are for chapters in the works but not posted yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe
Summary: A late collection of drabbles for the Qrowtober 2020 prompt set that will mostly be these two goofs being sweet with each other.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27





	1. Professions

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few completed, but there will not be a set schedule for updates. I'll add to it whenever I have something ready. Each chapter can be read on its own and will not require having read any prior chapters unless otherwise noted. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

“You’re a teacher?”

The huntsman crosses his arms, scoffs in mock offense. “Why do you sound so surprised? I’m an excellent instructor, I’ll have you know.”

Clover pokes his nose playfully, eyebrow quirked as he replies, “I know you’re a good teacher, I’ve seen you with your gaggle of kids. Honestly it’s a little unfair.” He grins, brushing a few stray bangs back into place. “Famous huntsman and esteemed professor? Is there anything you can’t do?”

The amused huff spills from lips, and Qrow rolls his eyes, more fond than anything else. “Yeah,” he says, red eyes flicking away, then back to green. “Yeah, there is something. Can’t seem to get this absolute dork to shut up and kiss me.” He leans back against the counter, waggling eyebrows at his counterpart.

“Dunno,” Clover whispers, pressing into his space, “I’d say you’re pretty good at that too.”

Qrow hums a pleased sound as arms uncross, hands reaching for the front of a uniform. Eyes close in anticipation as fingers tangle in dusty locks.

“Did you ever wear glasses, though? Bet you’d look good in them.” 

“Clover,” he groans, peeking eyes open to see a thoroughly amused expression. Oh, so that’s how it is, he thinks. Brat finds it funny to pull a bait and switch. The question was honest enough, though. Full of interest, and Qrow tucks that notion away for payback at a later date before tugging the man in for his desired kiss.

Clover laughs against his lips, and Qrow grins back.

_We’ll see who’s laughing when a certain someone’s thing for glasses is used against him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know yet when the glasses will come into play, but I'm sure they will at some point pfft. Thanks for reading!


	2. Feathers

"Well hello there, pretty bird," Clover says with a fond smile as he exits the washroom. He walks closer and sits on the edge of the bed. A hand reaches over to the crow nestled atop his vest, lightly ruffling chest feathers.

Qrow chatters quietly at affectionate pets, leaning into fingers that are always so gentle.

Clover lies on his side, curls around his precious bird as he continues soft strokes, and after a few moments he playfully pokes a wing.

"Rough night?"

Qrow puffs lightly, feathers sticking out this way and that at the simple question. He doesn't want to talk about it. But then, Clover knows that of course. Qrow chances a glance at seafoam eyes. Sure enough, though his prodding is lighthearted, those eyes are more insightful than they have any right to be.

They leave him for a moment, flicking away to the clock on a nightstand. The man hums thoughtfully before returning his attention to striking red. Gone is the sad understanding, replaced with pure adoration and a hint of mischief in a grin.

"I _could_ skip the morning mission assignment and pet my lovebird until he's ready to start the day. Or…"

Qrow looks at him curiously. He expects the offer to stay, and had he the words, he would tell Clover it's unnecessary, that he just wants a minute to recharge under his tender strokes. But what else could he suggest that would warrant that rebellious glint in green eyes, he wonders.

"Or should I pocket you, bring you along for the ride? I'm sure the kids'll get a kick out of it. Might scare Vine, though. He's had a few unfortunate bird encounters in the past."

Were he in human form, Qrow would have snorted at that. As a crow, he lets out a cackling squawk, then turns to nibble fingers that have stilled in feathers. 

Clover grins, strokes his beak gently before brushing soft feathers once more. "Of course, my apologies, birdie.” 

A feather comes loose, and he holds it up, looking at it like some kind of treasure.

Qrow watches as brilliant eyes dance, as lips quirk upward in one of those breathtaking smiles, and he can’t even care that the caresses have ceased again. Not when the man looks at a piece of him like _that_.

Still entranced by the little feather, Clover rolls onto his back and asks, “So what do you think?”

Feathers transform, and in place of the bird is Qrow, leaning over him and shaking his head in amusement. “I _think_ you’re an easily distracted dweeb. But I love you for it.”

Momentary surprise at the sudden shift melts away, and something all cheek takes its place. “Easily distracted? Me?”

Qrow takes the hand that holds a delicate feather between fingers, noses at a pulse before pressing his wrist against the sheets. “Yeah, now what say I distract you from that mission assignment. I think you promised to ‘pet your lovebird until he’s ready to start the day’, and I’m still not ready.”

He’s full of it, and they both know it. Him discarding his bird form is proof enough that he’s doing just fine now, but a promise is a promise.

And there’s that smile again, bright and warm and everything as a free hand tugs him down for a kiss.


	3. Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains very brief mention of past alcoholism, in the first paragraph.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

He fiddles with them from time to time. Twisting them where they sit on fingers, once to the right, twice to the left. It's a habit he's developed over the years, when his hands aren't otherwise occupied. Holding the worn leather of Harbinger's hilt or some container filled with burning liquid. 

One of those things he doesn't do at all anymore, and that leaves more time with idle fingers. More time thinking. And thinking often leads to discomfort. So, he fiddles with rings. Sometimes as a distraction, sometimes for a familiar motion when he's somewhere unfamiliar.

Not that Clover's apartment is unfamiliar, far from it. He knows the layout of the place, what cupboard holds the coffee and mugs. He knows what cushion on the sofa is more worn and sunken, Clover's usual spot. He knows the smell of his shampoo, the soft feel of his bath towels. He knows the warmth of his bed, the comfort of nights spent together.

So, no, it's not the physical place that's new. It's the decision that's been made.

Starting today, he and Clover would officially be living together. It had been sort of an unofficial thing for some time. He thought it wouldn't feel any different putting a name to it, but…

"Still wanna order from the noodle shop tonight?" Clover calls as he steps out from the hall, toweling his hair dry, baggy sweatpants loose about hips. He spots Qrow on the couch, just catching that pensive gesture before eyes widen in gentle startle at the sudden question.

Qrow laces his fingers, focusing instead on the man before him. Fresh from a shower, skin tinged just a little pink from hot water, and he has to stifle the huff of laughter that bursts from his chest.

"You know, you're allowed to turn the temperature down in your own shower." He has long since learned Clover prefers cool water against his skin, not the scalding hot temperatures he himself enjoys. Maybe he should start turning down the faucet when he showers first, he thinks. Might even entice the man to join him more often. And the extra body heat would keep him from feeling too cold, that's for sure.

Clover simply grins, teasing, "Wanted to see if I'm as cute pink as you are." 

Qrow shoots him a disgruntled look, all furrowed eyebrows and completely feigned, accompanied by a 'hmph'. The first time Clover saw him fresh from a shower, he worried like a mother hen, with how red his skin was. Finding it hilarious, Qrow made terrible fun of him. So he supposes being called cute instead is his just desserts. And flushed skin is an attractive look on Clover, he keeps to himself.

The brunet walks over, completely ignoring what he knows is a look for show. He drops the towel to drape over a shoulder before sitting beside Qrow and taking fidgety hands in his own. Massages fingers with a practiced touch, pausing with the pad of his thumb pressed against one of three rings.

Breath catches in Qrow's throat as he remembers exactly who it is he's dealing with. A man with strikingly observant eyes, and the experience to understand what those eyes see. It would be unnerving if he didn't know his intentions. Only he does. He lets go of that breath and leans over to brush his nose against a warm cheek that's still slightly damp.

Clover carefully removes each ring, sets them neatly in a line on the coffee table before returning to soothing massages. Now able to get to every finger.

"Feels nice," Qrow whispers against skin, presses lips to warmth. He trails lazy kisses along that cheek to the curve of his jaw, prior worries fading to the background at the delicate reminder that this isn’t such a big change. All of this is familiar, normal for them.

“Mm, that does too,” comes the murmur of a reply as fingers continue their work. He tilts his head, giving Qrow more space as he asks, “Something on your mind, birdie?” Unassuming and laced with care, and Qrow almost rolls his eyes in utter fondness. It’s endearing, the way Clover has also learned in their time together. He can tell now when something small is tugging at his thoughts, gives him the opening to talk about it if he needs to. Just a little nudge while his actions already do wonders to chase away the problem entirely.

“Not anymore,” words muffled as a kiss is pressed more insistently to skin, open mouthed, teasing. Not so much a distraction as simple delight in the uptick of a pulse, in the taste of skin. A ‘thank you’ for comforting touches, that has Clover humming a pleasant sound. 

Until his stomach growls, and the snuffle of laughter falls from lips and brushes skin. Affectionately nuzzling against an ever warming neck, Qrow says, “Guess we better place that order, hm? Someone is pretty hungry.”

“I am,” Clover admits with a laugh of his own. Finished with rhythmic motions, he pulls that hand to his face, mouthing at a wrist. “Might need a snack to make it to dinner.”

And he’s hardly begun planting hungry kisses to the inside of that arm before Qrow pushes him down onto the cushions and climbs on top of him. “When I’m done with you, you might be too full for dinner, Cloves.”


End file.
